


talk some sense to me

by belikebumblebee



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-10-26 17:03:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20745680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belikebumblebee/pseuds/belikebumblebee
Summary: In a different story, there is no book, no curse, and no savior.Henry goes to find Emma all by himself, with no unshakeable belief in the true fate of the world, and things begin to change all on their own.In this story, there is no magic; there are just people, and aren't those really difficult enough?





	1. henry

**Author's Note:**

  * For [isawet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/isawet/gifts).

> Listen, I have no excuse. 
> 
> I promised @isawet a SQ one-shot (h/c, I believe?) four goddamn years ago, and I have nothing to say for myself except that writing is hard and life is also hard and the muse is a fickle wench. But here it is, four years later. It has nothing to do with what I promised you, I'm afraid, but it's the best I could do, and I hope you'll still like it. Happy super duper late birthday! (Four times.)
> 
> I did almost give up on it at least 20 times, though. It's been at least a year, maybe longer, since I showed the beginnings of this fic to @thegaysmurf, who was so enthusiastic about it that somehow, I found my way back to a ship I had long since abandoned. Every single thing I know about how the police works, I know from her, so you know it's legit, and you also know that she's a saint for patiently explaining the same things over and over again to this struggling European over here. Without her, this fic would have fewer commas (I swear the Comma Gnomes come and steal them right before she opens the document), no middle, and make way less sense. Thank you! <3
> 
> I don't know how and when Emma and Regina became my forever-ship, and I'm not sure anyone is still reading fics for a show that has already ended (and also really, honestly did not deserve these two, because come ON), but here it is, anyway.
> 
> Please enjoy. :)

**henry**

In a different story, there is no book. Henry takes the bus to Boston without really knowing what he’s looking for, and in his chest beats the heart of a ten-year-old boy who believes and doubts like any other.

“How did you even _ find _me?” Emma asks in the car, glancing over to where he looks on at the blurred lights of the city passing them by.

“My friend Ruby knows her way around computers,” he answers, slightly delayed. The rest of the drive is mostly silent, and Emma’s hand shifts on the steering wheel as she looks at him out of the corner of her eye.

On top of everything else, his mother is _ mayor_; she comes with a mansion and an air of authority, a woman like a storm cloud. Standing indecisively in the gap of the box tree hedge, Emma asks her: “Do you love him?”

“Of _ course _I love him,” Regina returns, and she’s dismissive, but earnest. Emma can tell. 

She drives home.

In his bed, Henry unfolds the piece of paper he found in his pocket; there’s a number on it. _ Should you ever need me_.

Regina leans against the counter in the kitchen and takes off her earrings, tired. 

*

In a different story, Henry doesn’t think his mother is evil. He still calls for her every night after he’s brushed his teeth and pulled his blanket up to his chin, so that she can tell him goodnight and smile at him through the closing gap between door and frame.

She calls him “my little prince,” and Henry sometimes imagines himself wearing leather armor and carrying a sword that would sing as he’d swing it. People would clap him hard on the shoulder, and his classmates would call him _ Sir Henry _ instead of _ momma’s boy. _

*

Emma picks up the phone without thinking. “Swan.”

“Hello, Emma. It’s me, Henry.”

Her heart rate picks up a little, palms sweating. “Hey, kid. Everything okay?”

“I guess.” A pause. “My mom gave me a PSP.”

“Oh, that’s… That’s cool, right?”

“Yeah. She’s not home today, she’s got a council meeting. Can I ask you something?”

“Ask away, kid.”

“Would we be living in Boston if you’d kept me?”

She sighs deeply.

“Henry… you wouldn’t be very happy if I’d kept you.”

“Why not?”

“Because… I wasn’t ready to have a kid. I couldn’t have taken care of you the way your mom has.”

He’s quiet for so long that Emma is suddenly afraid that he might be _ crying, _ and Lord knows she wouldn’t know how to handle _ that _, but when he finally speaks, he sounds normal. “So if you had to decide today, you would keep me?”

Emma steps up to her window. It’s raining outside and people with raincoats and umbrellas are hastening from bus stations to shops, side-stepping the puddles.

Behind her, the apartment lies quiet and empty.

“I don’t know, Henry. Why are you asking me this?”

“I guess I just wanna know.”

*

Emma drives back to Storybrooke on a Friday.

“Miss Swan.” Regina raises her chin slightly when she recognizes her. Emma smiles, feeling a little weak.

“It’s Emma, please. I was wondering if we could talk. We could go for a walk?”

Uncertain, Regina throws a glance back into the house, but Henry told Emma that he was going to a birthday party of someone at school.

“I’m sure whatever you have to tell me can be discussed in the house.”

Emma shrugs. “It can. But I’ve been sitting in a car for two hours and I’d like to stretch my legs.”

She stands absolutely still as Regina sizes her up for a good ten seconds.

“I’ll get my coat.”

*

Storybrooke is small, clean, and homely. The clock tower audibly strikes five as they pass it, and Emma looks up to see a couple of seagulls flapping away from the clanking noise of the clock hand locking into place. The wind coming from the seaside is chilly; she zips up her leather jacket.

“Henry has been calling me.”

Regina stops walking. “You have been in contact with _ my son without notifying me? _”

Her tone is sharp, and Emma half-expects her to whip out her phone to call the police (or possibly the FBI) immediately. She barely manages to suppress an eye roll. “I literally just told you.”

Although her expression is still tight and bordering on murderous, Regina resumes their walk. “How long has this been going on?”

“A month, maybe. I didn’t say anything at first because I thought that once he’d run out of,” she takes a deep breath in the middle of her sentence, “incredibly uncomfortable questions to ask me, he’d lose interest, but now he’s just… telling me about what’s going on in his day-to-day life. And asking me about mine. So I figured you should know.”

“Thank you. I will take care of it.” She sounds tight, winded.

They turn a corner, and Emma can see a glimpse of the ocean, gray and glittering; the air tastes like salt. The sea seems different here than in Boston, somehow. Less… tamed.

She steels herself before saying: “Look, I know a thing or two about what he’s going through. I was a foster kid, so I know what it’s like to… wonder.”

Regina’s expression softens for just a moment, but her voice is still sharp as a porcelain shard. “Well, Henry is not in foster care. _ I _ adopted him, after _ you _ gave him up, which given your age, was no doubt the right decision. But he is not your child, Miss Swan, he’s mine. And I know what’s best for him. He will not be calling you again.”

“It’s Emma. And I’m not so sure about that.”

“Well, _ Emma_. If he does, I _ advise _ you not to pick up the phone.”

Regina leaves her standing there, and Emma lets herself sink down onto a bench with a deep sigh. In the west, the sun is getting ready to set.

*

Henry calls, and Emma doesn’t answer.

Henry calls, and Emma pushes the lock button.

Henry calls, and Emma clasps the phone in her hands, knuckles white. She gets a bottle of vodka from the freezer and pours herself one shot when the ringing stops.

He doesn’t call again for almost two weeks. Emma spends her evenings wandering through Storybrooke via google maps, digging through the paper box with memorabilia at the very bottom of her closet. She thinks maybe, if she had to make the decision today, she’d keep him.

*

When her phone finally rings again, she can’t help it.

“Hey, kid. Does your mom know you’re calling me?”

“Miss Swan, spare me the act. I know my son is with you, and I will have you know that you are already facing serious charges. If you don’t cooperate with me, the consequences—“

“Wait,” Emma is suddenly standing. Her heart is throbbing in her throat. “What are you talking about? I haven’t spoken to Henry since we talked, what happened?”

For a long moment, there is just static crackling on the line.

“If you are _ lying to me _—“

“I’m _ not_,” Emma rasps. “I don’t _ lie_, in fact I _ came to you _ when he called me, why would I lie about this? What happened?”

“Henry is missing,” Regina all but breathes on the other end, more to herself than to Emma.

“I can help, I’m a bail bonds person—“ Emma starts, but Regina isn’t listening anymore. “I have to go,” she says, already half away from the speaker, and hangs up.

Emma calls every contact she has, pacing her apartment and _ itching _to drive to Storybrooke, like that is going to accomplish anything. Everyone promises to be on the look-out, but to no immediate avail – until she remembers something that has been lurking at the edge of her mind.

“Is he with you now?” Regina bellows into the phone instead of a greeting.

“No,” Emma says. “But– do you know a kid named Ruby?”

As it turns out, Ruby is not a kid, but a grown woman who waitresses at a diner, and apparently, she folds like a road map the second Regina questions her.

“He’s on his way to New York,” Regina snaps when Emma picks up the phone again. “Looking for his… father. The only bus connection from here on a Saturday is over—“

“Boston,” Emma finishes, checking her watch, “and his bus is leaving in twelve minutes. I’ll call you back.”

She knows all the schedules by heart, it comes with the job. On her way to the South Station Bus Terminal, she probably gets caught speeding on camera, but she makes it on time, with the tires of her little yellow car screeching as it dramatically comes to a halt in front of the Megabus.

*

Regina scolds Henry for ten straight minutes, her bare knees on the gravel in the driveway where she’s crouched in front of him; she touches his hands, his arms, his forehead.

Henry just stands there. Every once in a while he nods, and as soon as she lets go of him for long enough, he rumbles into the house and up the stairs.

“Miss Swan,” Regina sighs, “I suppose I owe you thanks. Would you like some coffee?”

Emma pulls up one shoulder. “Got anything stronger?”

For the first time, Emma sees Regina smile, and can’t help but be surprised at the warmth of it.

“How would you like a glass of the best apple cider you’ve ever tasted?”

*

The cider is not quite what Emma had in mind when she asked for something stronger, but she’ll admit that it does taste amazing: sweet, sour, and a little hot, with a dash of cinnamon. It tastes like a warm evening in the early fall, golden and melancholic.

“Henry’s therapist informs me that his interest in his biological parents is something I’d do well to indulge for a while,” Regina begins. She’s holding her shoulders stiffly, straightening out the pictures standing on the mantelpiece above the fireplace. Emma wonders what the hell could make someone as well put-together as her so uncomfortable. “So if you’re still willing to answer his questions, you have my permission to do so… under a few conditions.”

Her _ permission_, Emma thinks, and asks: “Conditions?”

Regina turns around and puts her glass on a coaster. The gesture seems pointed. Emma follows her gaze to the table and notices her own glass sitting directly on the surface. She tries to reach for the coasters as casually as possible.

Smoothing down her expensive gray dress, Regina sits down in the chair opposite Emma, and it looks like she’s settling into a throne. All she’s lacking, Emma thinks, is a scepter – or maybe a really muscular staghound at her feet.

“Yes. Number one, no phone calls. You can meet here. Once a week.”

“Here?” Emma realizes that she keeps repeating what Regina says, and shakes her head a little. “You don’t think he’s going to feel a little awkward about whatever he wants to know when you’re right next door?”

A glare. “I won’t be. I have council meetings on Sundays. You will have the house to yourselves. Which brings me to condition number two: you are not to buy him gifts.”

Emma can’t help it; she rolls her eyes, complete with head movement and annoyed intake of breath. She regrets it as soon as she sees Regina’s face.

“I’m sorry, have I offended you with my reluctance to let you bribe him? It’s called _ parenting_, Miss Swan; I like to have an eye on the influences my son is exposed to.”

Holding up her hands, Emma leans back against the pillows. “Fine. What else?”

Regina’s expression flickers for a moment, then smoothes out again. “When I return from my meetings, you will tell me what he is asking you about.”

Emma’s jaw drops a little. “You can’t be serious.”

“I assure you I am.”

“That is a _ complete _violation of his privacy! Did you talk this through with his therapist?”

“I did.”

“And he approved of this?”

“Well—“

She only hesitates for less than a second, but Emma understands immediately.

“He told you not to say that, didn’t he.”

“It’s _ my _ decision, not his.“ Her tone is icy.

“Yeah,” Emma says, and stands, “yeah. But I'm not doing that. If that is your condition, you can talk to him yourself. Thanks for the cider.” She drains the rest of it, gives Regina curt nod, and heads for the door.

“Is it really so difficult to understand that I want to know what's going on in his head?”

Even _ that _ she manages to make sound condescending, somehow. Emma sighs and closes her eyes. For a moment, she considers just leaving, getting back to her life the way it was without Henry: untethered from past and future.

Then she turns back.

“Look, I get it. He's your kid. But he's also a person of his own, so...” She half-shrugs. “I can tell you if there’s things you should look out for or something like that, but I'm not gonna tell you what he says to me.”

Regina stands, too, suddenly looking exhausted. “Fine. I'll see you next week. Be here at two.“

*

Henry sits sunken into the cushions of the same couch Emma had been on the week before, sullen and with his arms crossed in front of his chest. He’s weirdly small like this, his pressed shirt crinkling where it rides up in his armpits.

“So,” Emma says. “Wanna tell me why you’re mad at me?”

“I thought you didn’t want to talk to me anymore?” His tone is exactly as pointed and snappy as his mother’s can be.

“Is _ that _ what—“ _ she told you_, Emma almost yells indignantly, but pulls herself together. She takes a deep breath. No wonder he stopped calling. “It’s a lot more complicated than that.”

Henry throws up his hands. “You always say that.”

“That’s because it’s true! You’re asking some tough questions and I have no easy answers!”

He looks a bit stricken at that, and Emma remembers that this is maybe not how you’re supposed to talk to ten-year-olds. Fuck, she isn’t cut out for this. She takes another deep breath, and another, and another.

“I’m sorry this is hard, kid; it’s not easy for me and your mom either. But we’ll figure it out, alright?”

They have a sort of grumpy staring match. Then Henry, still looking her dead in the eye, says: “It’s ‘your mom and me.’”

*

The next week, Regina invites her to stay for dinner when she returns from her meeting.

“Can I help?” Emma asks, and watches as Regina wraps a spotless black apron around her body. She feels awkward all of a sudden, out of place in this expensive house now that she’s not just here to talk with Henry anymore. Like a tutor after a lesson, a babysitter while the parents are home. What _ is _it that she’s doing here?

“There is not much to help, Miss Swan,” Regina answers breezily, but her tone is not unfriendly. “You can just sit down. So, how was your day?”

The last part is directed at Henry, who has strolled in and is climbing onto a stool by the kitchen island. “I showed Emma around town.”

Proudly, he launches into a recount of all the things he told her about, and Emma remembers that Regina is mayor of this town; that the way she runs her office is probably the reason why there are clean streets, green traffic circles, and fancy playgrounds.

“Really,” Regina is saying in response to something Henry just said, “and how did she like it?”

Their eyes meet above his head, and Regina starts chopping vegetables with an easy flick of her wrist.

“I liked it,” Emma tells her. “It’s a nice town.”

*

“What about my dad? His name is Neal, right? Ruby found that out. What happened with him?”

Making a mental note to have a chat with that Ruby, Emma cringes. It’s been ten years; she knows she should be over it. And she is, mostly; she doesn’t miss Neal or the future they never had anymore. But it’s hard not to wonder how someone she trusted that deeply would just–

She sighs and kicks at a stone that bounces away over the sanded pavement until it lands in a snow drift. For a long moment, she considers making up a man that Henry could relate to, a hero; a firefighter, maybe. But it’s been ten years since she decided to give Henry away, and all she has to offer him now is honesty.

Emma takes a deep breath and tries to buy some time. “First of all, he is not your dad.”

Henry makes a frustrated noise. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, but it’s still important, alright? Anyway, he was…” She remembers the voices of the cops echoing in her ears, and groans. “Listen, are you sure you want to know all this? A lot of the answers to your questions are kind of sad, and I’m… a bit worried you’ll become a cynic.” _ Like your mother_, Emma would add if Regina was there, but she isn’t, so there’s really no point in being cheeky.

However, the thought alone is immediately punished when Henry asks: “What’s a cynic?”

Emma blows out her cheeks and lets the air out slowly as she tries not to say _ never mind._ “Someone who thinks all people are bad.”

The fact that Henry was raised by Regina shows very often, but Emma’s favorite thing is when she recognizes Regina’s facial expressions on a ten-year-old boy, because it’s hilarious. Henry pulls a dismissive, irritated face, exactly like the one Regina frequently makes in response to – well, a lot of things Emma says. “That’s ridiculous, Emma. Why would someone think that? Not all people are the _ same_.” The _ duh _is implied, but has probably been trained out of his speech pattern.

Beaten, Emma throws up her arms a little. “Alright, uhm. Neal… left me. Before you were born. He got me into some trouble with the police, and it really sucked.”

“Why did he leave?”

“He didn’t tell me, but I have to assume that he got overwhelmed,” Emma says, and that is about as much leniency as she’s willing to grant a guy who promised her that they could do this together and then just left her to go to jail.

And shit, she suddenly remembers, is she supposed to teach Henry that that’s not acceptable behavior? Is she apologizing Neal’s behavior to spare Henry’s feelings, and thereby making it seem like that is something adults do? _ Fuck_, she’s really, _ really _ not cut out for this.

“Which was really not okay of him,” she adds lamely.

“Alright,” Henry says.

“Alright?”

“Yeah.” They’ve reached the diner, and Henry trots up the few steps before her, hoists open the door. “Do you like hot chocolate?”

*

Sometime in the weeks leading up to Christmas, Emma staying over for dinner becomes a habit, and eventually, so does Emma staying over for a drink _ after _ dinner. Not that she actually has anything to drink, because of the driving, but that’s what they call it: Regina and Emma in Regina’s study, just talking, _ having a drink_. Of course, Regina still insists on calling her _ Miss Swan_, but Emma likes to think they’ve become friends, or something.

Regina even allows her to give Henry something for Christmas.

She gets him an audio book about modern fairytales, one in which the princess and her dragon get on splendidly without the prince, and the evil queen, who is actually pretty relatable, eventually makes better life choices and finds love with the guy who tends to her horses. 

*

If she’s not away on a job, Emma likes to treat herself on Thursdays once a month: slouched into one of the big, comfortable chairs with a box of nachos with cheese and a Corona she smuggles in under her jacket, she attends the Sneak Preview movie night at her favorite cinema.

She doesn’t really care if the movie is good; if it is, that’s just a bonus to the feeling of the lights dimming and the curtain drawing back. The sounds so loud they rumble in her chest. Sometimes she just puts her head back and watches the dust dance in the light of the projector.

It’s never felt lonely before.

*

“I thought you said you _ liked _ video games!”

“I like good ones!”

“This _ is _ good, you’re just _ terrible _ at it!”

“Listen, my guy, put on some Mario Kart and I’ll kick your scrawny little butt.”

“You know, you’re rather mouthy for someone who— just—died! Ha!”

“I can’t believe you just seriously used the words ‘rather mouthy’. How old are you, fifty-six?”

*

They’re in the kitchen, unloading the dishwasher, when Emma discovers that the gigantic pompous house no longer intimidates her. Her shoes are sitting on the steps in the foyer, and she’s gotten used to the tick-tock of the old clock coming from the dining room. She’s even kind of gotten used to the fact that there _ is _ a dining room.

(The heavy feeling in her stomach has nothing to do with uncomfortableness.)

“Henry had a nightmare this week,” Regina mentions, and bends down to close the dishwasher.

“Oh?” Emma’s voice sounds strange to her own ears, so she clears her throat. “What, um. What about?”

“He couldn’t really remember. Something about a room full of flames.” Leaning against the counter, Regina glances into space, like she’s forgotten Emma is there. For a moment, she’s lost in thought, then she suddenly picks up her glass from earlier, looks into it, and puts it back when she realizes it’s empty. She shrugs. “I don’t know, I suppose I was just surprised because he hasn’t told me about his nightmares in a while.”

The half-smile she gives Emma is a little tight, like she’s revealed too much. “Can I offer you anything to drink?” 

Emma shakes her head. “No,” she says quickly, “no, thank you. Not tonight. I should be heading home soon.” She takes a deep breath. “There’s something we need to talk about.”

“Oh?”

“It’s not about Henry,” Emma rushes to add, then amends: “Well, not entirely about him.”

Regina’s perfect eyebrows shoot up, and she lifts her chin ever so slightly, suddenly regal again. “Miss Swan, out with it.”

“I can’t make it next week, and it’s probably gonna be difficult all through January and February. Maybe March, too.”

It’s like a shutter rattles down over Regina’s face, and the clock ticks and ticks, slower than Emma’s pulse. “So you waltz into my son’s life, and now that he’s gotten used to you, you’re going to abandon him like some discarded crafts project.”

Emma forces herself to be calm, even though the anger is already flaring up in her chest, licking over the hurt. “Actually,” she says, voice strained, “work has been scarce lately, and I can’t afford my apartment anymore, let alone driving up here every week. So I’m going to need some time to sort things out. Not everyone can be as _ well-off _ as you are, _ Madame Mayor. _”

“Oh.” Despite the shit she’s in, Emma can’t help but feel a pinch of satisfaction at having rendered Regina Mills speechless. Even if it’s just for a moment before Regina continues: “Well. Where will you be moving? I hear Boston’s expensive.”

Emma shrugs, uncomfortable. “I’ll figure something out.”

She watches Regina nod absently, tracing a vein in the marble countertop with one finger. 

_ Oh, what the hell. _ “I actually… thought about moving here for a while.”

She looks up so sharply that Emma immediately wishes she hadn’t said anything. She leans back, defensive. “Just because it’s a nice place and I might find temporary work at the harbor. And I could keep seeing Henry on Sundays.”

When Regina doesn’t say anything, Emma sighs and pushes herself off the kitchen island. Suddenly all she wants is to not be talking about this anymore. “Forget it, it was just a random thought. I should be going. Do you want to tell Henry or should I call him tomorrow?”

“You can tell him yourself,” Regina answers slowly. Emma considers herself dismissed.

She’s already in the foyer and pulling on her shoes when Regina steps into the doorway.

“There might be another job here for you,” she says, and makes it sound so casual. “Chief Humbert and I were discussing the possibility of hiring another officer.”

The foyer is dark, and they do not look at each other in the deafening silence that stretches out for a few moments before Emma says: “I’ll think about it.”

*

Standing alone in the half-light of her hallway, Regina thinks about it, too.


	2. emma

# 

**emma**

In a different story, there is no curse. Emma can leave Storybrooke without her car swerving and crashing, and she does.

“Officer Emma Swan,” Emma tells her windshield. “Sure. Fuck, it must be really fucking cold in hell right now.”

*

She has Marie Callender’s pot pie for dinner on the Sunday that follows.

*

At night, she lies awake, and the decision makes itself before she’s even ready to admit that she is seriously considering it.

*

Emma tells the Millses over dinner two weeks later.

“I have an appointment for a roommate casting tomorrow,” she says evenly, careful not to give away her excitement.

“That’s great, Emma!” Henry replies, and really, his support is heartwarming. When Emma told him she’d have to skip a few weekends over the next months, she had expected him to be quickly disappointed, but instead, he’d been _ worried about her financial situation_. 

Sometimes he is entirely too grown up for his age.

“Where?” Regina does not look up from her plate. Emma doesn’t, either.

“Hunter’s Grove.”

It takes a moment, then Henry drops his fork. “You’re moving to _ Storybrooke_?”

Emma can’t manage more than an affirmative grin before he slides out of his chair and barrels into her side. Automatic, Emma catches him in a hug, but her eyes drift over to Regina.

She worries she’ll disapprove of Henry’s enthusiasm, but Regina is topping off her own glass with a smug expression.

“Have you reconsidered my offer to put in a good word for you?”

Henry lets go of Emma when she nods. “You knew about this?” He sounds disbelieving.

“I suggested that she could try out as Chief Humbert’s new officer,” Regina tells him. “What do you think?”

She almost spills her wine when Henry knocks into her, too.

*

Emma’s new roommate is a woman named Mary Margaret Blanchard who teaches at Henry’s school, and Emma couldn’t have come up with a more fitting name if she tried. She is the only child of a rich widower, and Emma suspects that she gets dressed by birds each morning – birds with _ terrible _ fashion sense. Her favorite thing about their shared apartment is the exposed brick, she has a Möbius strip tattooed on her wrist, and she uses an honest to God typewriter for her lesson plans, but six days into living together, Emma finds that they might be okay anyway.

“Do you take sugar in your herbal tea? I also have Stevia,” Mary Margaret cheerily calls from the kitchen, and Emma accidentally groans.

“What?” Mary Margaret wants to know.

Emma shakes her head, but her roommate insists until she finally says: “It’s just. You’re the most hipster person I have ever met in my life. Just for the Stevia thing, you should be paying a quarter into the hipster jar, or something.”

Mary Margaret nods slowly. “That’s fair.”

She turns around and takes a mason jar from the cupboard. As she unscrews the top, Emma opens her mouth, but Mary Margaret just pointedly places it on the kitchen island and drops two quarters into the jar without breaking eye contact.

Emma laughs until her stomach hurts, and then offers her roommate a high five, which she clumsily reciprocates.

*

“Swan.”

“Hi, Emma, it’s me!”

“Hey, kid, what can I do for you? Everything alright?”

“Mom and I are going to see _ Mr. Popper’s Penguins_, wanna come with?”

“Oh—well—I don’t know, Henry, did you talk to your mother about this?”

“She said I could ask you.”

“Did she now.”

“Yeah. I know she seems tough, but she really likes you by now, I think.”

“Oh. Well, if Regina says it’s okay, I guess I’ll—“

“Awesome! The movie starts at six-thirty, but you gotta be there early, or the line for the popcorn will be too long. Don’t be late!”

“Henry, wait, which—“ Emma sighs when he hangs up. “—cinema.”

From where she’s knitting on the couch, Mary Margaret snorts. “You really haven’t gotten the hang of Storybrooke yet, Emma. _ Which cinema_.”

*

Emma is hired for a probationary period of eight weeks, and her boss, Chief Humbert, insists that she call him Graham, which of course solidifies her decision to never call him anything other than “Chief.” He is tall and lean, and Emma can think of at least four former friends who would have been all over his broad shoulders and narrow hips and Irish accent. She finds herself thoroughly underwhelmed by his charms, but he’s nice enough.

Her first two weeks on the job pass without any remarkable incidents – even though it takes her five days to stop whispering _ Sorry _under her breath before giving someone a parking ticket – until the day Mary Margaret comes by the station to bring Emma the lunch she forgot on the counter that morning.

The Storybrooke Police Department employs only one other officer: David Nolan. As far as Emma is concerned, he is kindhearted and likeable, if a bit bland, but when she introduces him to her roommate, she swears suddenly there’s lens flares and swelling string music.

“Hi, I’m Mary Margaret,” Mary Margaret breathes, extending one slender hand.

David takes it, and the two of them continue to look into each other’s eyes.

“Pleasure,” David finally manages to answer, his voice warm and still, like he’s said something incredibly profound. “I’m David.”

They shake hands for ten full seconds.

Emma sighs.

*

“What does a bail bondsperson do?”

It’s _ such _ fun hanging out with Henry. They play games, they have inside jokes, Emma is even getting decidedly better at _ Crash Bandicoot _.

It feels like she’s getting a tiny taste of what it could have been like to be his mother, had Neal not split, had she been in a better place. (It feels like she’s getting a tiny taste of what it could have been like to have a real childhood.)

They see each other more often now; it’s a small town and they run into each other frequently on his way home from school.

It makes Emma’s whole day when they do. But she really, really wishes that Henry came with a _ Next Question _ button.

“Uhm,” she says, “we find people. Amongst other things.”

“What things?”

“Boring things. Speaking of boring things, your mom said to remind you of your math homework.”

Henry groans. “Em_ma _…”

Emma puts her hands up. “She said you didn’t do it yesterday, so you gotta do it today.”

“I _ hate _ math,” he grumbles, and then lights up when they pass the bookstore. “If I promise to do my homework without complaining, can I pick a book?”

Emma knows this isn’t really how it works, but it’s so _ easy _ to make him happy.

“Promise to do your homework without complaining for the whole week, and you’ve got yourself a deal.”

*

“Would you like to stay for a drink?” Regina asks from the study, and there’s a _ clink _ that says she’s already taking out two glasses. 

Emma remains rooted to the spot for a brief moment. “Yes,” she answers, making her voice sound light. The word seems to float in her chest. 

Henry kissed them each goodnight a few minutes ago, pulling himself up on his toes to reach her cheek. Now she’s closing up the dishwasher, and, a few moments later, padding over the hardwood floors of the Mills house.

She hesitates in the doorway, teetering on the edge of the warm light that’s spilling out of the study. 

“So.” The smile that curves along Regina’s mouth is as golden as the hard cider. “How do you like being an officer of the law?”

Emma waits for a witty reply to come to mind. None does. 

“Not the worst gig I’ve ever had,” she finally says. 

Regina laughs, and Emma finally steps into the room, taking the glass from the hands that offer it to her. 

The alcohol warms her right up, makes her heart swim and her lips tingle. 

Which is really a lot to ask of a single sip of cider. 

*

In a different story, Emma was not born into a wooden box to be sent into a world far, far away. 

But she’s never really felt like she belonged before, anyway.

*

Emma made the decision to make friends with Ruby very quickly after moving to Storybrooke. 

There were two reasons for this. For one, she is clearly an enabler as far as Henry's dubious solo missions go. And although there was no doubt in Emma's mind that Regina had already scared the living daylights out of her, it probably couldn't hurt if Ruby knew Emma was around, too — and while Henry finding _ her _ had been a good thing, him finding _ Neal _ would not have been. 

And for another, she'd seen her around Granny's diner, and she seemed cool, and fun (and hot). Emma could use a friend like her in town.

As luck would have it, Ruby turned out to be an actual gift from the Gods — they text each other while hate-watching_ The Bachelor _ — which is why Emma is telling her the news first.

There are only a handful of patrons at Granny’s diner when Emma walks in; Dr. Whale, who argued with her over a speeding ticket the other day, pushes past her sourly, and at the corner table sits the regular guest whom Emma has dubbed Really Old Guy.

“Officer Swan,” Ruby grins at her, sharp teeth and sex appeal on full display. “What can I do you for? Do I need to charm my way out of a parking ticket?”

“You don't have a car,” her grandmother points out, exasperated. 

“My usual for me, Rubes.” Oh, what the hell. “And whatever beverage the mayor usually orders, I’m on my way to a meeting.”

“Whipped?”

“Excuse me?” 

Tossing her hair over one shoulder, Ruby gives her an innocent look. “Whipped cream with your hot chocolate?” 

With her heart pounding a little, Emma narrows her eyes. “Yeah, you know what? I’ll treat myself. I’ll take some whipped fucking cream.” 

“Swearing on the job? I didn’t know that was allowed.”

Emma watches as Ruby fills up two to-go cups; Regina’s first, with piping hot black coffee and a pump of caramel syrup, then her own cinnamon hot chocolate. 

“Yeah, well,” she responds, “I’ll take my chances until the Academy beats it out of me.”

Ruby looks up. “They’ve agreed to send you to the Police Academy?” 

Emma can’t help it, she grins back at her. “Yep. Going to the mayor’s office to get my paperwork signed now.”

“That’s awesome!” Setting down both cups in a little tray, Ruby comes around the counter to pull her into an unexpected hug. “Welcome to Storybrooke, Emma. You’re here for good now.” 

Emma returns the hug tentatively, and then startles when Really Old Guy suddenly says: “Part of the crew, part of the ship!”

Pulling back, Ruby rolls her eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Eat your scrambled egg, Mr. Turner. You better be finished when your son comes back to pick you up.” 

*

“Staying, then, are you?” Regina asks, with something secret curled in the corner of her mouth. 

“Just until the kid gets sick of me,” Emma responds evenly.

Regina’s signature is a beautiful structure of ink curves and sharp strokes. 

“Well, then I hope this considerable chunk of taxpayer money is not wasted on you.” 

*

“I’m in love with him,” Mary Margaret says, letting herself fall backwards onto the mattress with a dramatic flourish. 

Emma instantly flashes on a video Henry showed her the other week, and has to physically restrain herself from saying _ You love him? You met him Sunday. It’s barely Thursday morning. Slow down, Crazy. Slow down. _

Instead of doing that, she turns the page of the magazine she is reading, unfazed. Here’s to hoping she looks half as regal as Regina when she does it. 

“That’s great, Mary Margaret.”

“_ No,” _ her roommate says, throwing one arm over her eyes. “He’s _ married_.” 

Emma rolls her eyes. “They’re _ separated, _ and she’s seeing your colleague. It’s not like you’re some sort of home-wrecker. Their home is already perfectly wrecked.”

Dissatisfied with Emma’s lack of understanding for her predicament, Mary Margaret pushes herself up on her elbows. “And that makes it _ okay_?”

Alright. No magazine reading, then. She lets it glide from her hands with a sigh.

“Yes,” she says, “it does. It’s not your responsibility to worry about his marriage if they have already chosen to lead separate lives. Or are you seriously worried that he might still be into her?”

Mary Margaret’s eyes widen, and Emma instantly regrets her last sentence. 

“Oh, come _ on. _ He sang you a _ song _the other week.”

Beneath Emma’s window. On a Saturday morning. 

At least he had the good grace to apologize profusely and get really embarrassed around her for the rest of the week. 

“And how do you know you love him, anyway? The guy’s got a six-pack; it’s practically impossible to tell if you love a dude when he has a six-pack. It’s like, take that away, and what is left? Tickets to see _ Disney on Ice _ and a Happy Meal?” 

Okay, Emma will concede that maybe she’s not the best person to judge this type of situation. She may be a tad bitter and a smidge biased.

Mary Margaret shrugs. “He does have a six-pack, and that’s… nice… but. When I’m around him, I just feel _ home. _ All I want to do is make him laugh, and… I don’t know, make strawberry marmalade with him. I don’t even _ like _strawberries, Emma. Are you listening to me?”

“Yeah,” Emma says, a little too late. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Mary Margaret sounds confused.

“Sure.” If she sounds far away, it’s just because she is. “You should ask him out or something.”

*

From the bus stop at the harbor, a bus leaves for Boston every Saturday. Ruby knows this, because she looked it up for Henry once. 

(She knows she probably shouldn’t have. But she remembers being a kid and wanting so desperately to see something of the world beyond Storybrooke. To get away from the woman who raised her with tough love and strict bedtimes; to wonder what happened to the woman who birthed her. She remembers how much she would have given to just get one look at her mother.)

For all twenty-five years of her life — well, maybe not the entire twenty-five, but at least twenty — Ruby had dreamed of meeting some handsome guy on a motorcycle; someone mysterious and a little rough around the edges. Someone who would challenge her, and she might challenge him right back. Someone courageous, but secretly sweet; someone with a nice bicep. 

She supposes the way she feels a desperate, howling yearning in her veins whenever she sees Belle French set foot into the diner is one explanation as to why that never happened. 

The shortage of mysterious men in a town like Storybrooke could be another, of course, but wasn’t there a writer or lumberjack that she fawned over a little bit every now and again?

When Belle smiles at her through her lashes, Ruby can’t remember any of them.

As she walks past the bus stop, her fingers brush over the book that she’s on her way to return to the library. 

_ Did you like it? _Belle will probably ask her with a beaming smile. 

She’s always touching her, Belle. Running a hand down her arm to squeeze her hand in thanks, rubbing her shoulder with sympathy when a guest accidentally poured hot coffee on her, pushing a stray strand of hair out of her face. Ruby would wonder if it meant anything, if it wasn’t for the way Belle is also constantly draped all over Mr. Gold. 

Jealousy claws and bites at her whenever she sees him, and she can’t recall ever having felt so pathetic as she does when she wishes she could swap places with a rich, old man of questionable morals. 

*

Henry picks up on the third ring. 

“Mills Residence, this is Henry, how can I help you?” 

Emma lets herself fall backwards onto the couch. 

“Does your mom make you answer the phone like that, or are you just a nerd all on your own?”

“One does not exclude the other,” Henry replies with dignity, and Emma has to take the phone away from her ear to bite the back of her hand for a moment. When she puts it back again, Henry is saying something. 

“...t’s up?” 

Emma sighs. “My roommate is taking my colleague out on a date on Sunday, which means that he asked me to cover his shift. Wanna come hang out at the station with me then?”

“Sure,” Henry says. “But only if I can ride in the squad car with you.”

“Deal,” Emma says, and then they hang up. 

A kid, a roommate, a friend, and a job. 

_ Part of the crew, part of the ship. _

And Regina.

  


*

** _Emma. 7:44pm. _ ** _ So remember when you said no presents _

** _Madame Mayor. 8:05pm. _ ** _ Good evening to you, too. Please elaborate. _

** _Emma. 8:06pm. _ ** _ pardonnez moi, your majesty, for omitting the formal address. _

** _Emma. 8:06pm. _ ** _ When I started hanging out with henry, you said I was _

** _Emma. 8:07pm. _ ** _ And I quote _

** _Emma. 8:07pm. “_ ** _ Not to buy henry gifts” _

** _Emma. 8:07pm. _ ** _ Is this still a rule? _

** _Madame Mayor. 8:08pm. _ ** _ Given that you’ve already bought him at least four graphic novels, a Christmas present, and that Mario Card game, I don’t see the point of the question. If you’re asking if you can buy Henry a Wii, the answer is no. _

** _Emma. 8:09pm. _ ** _ *Mario kart _

** _Emma. 8:09pm. _ ** _ And I was thinking more along the lines of a trip to six flags _

** _Emma. 8:12pm. _ ** _ There’d be a spa day in it for you if you said yes _

** _Emma. 8:15pm. _ ** _ Unless of course you like roller coasters? _

** _Madame Mayor. 8:19pm. _ ** _ Well, when you get back from the Academy, maybe we can talk. _ ** **

** _Emma. 8:20pm. _ ** _ !!!!!! _ ** _🎊🎉🎉🎉🎉🎁🎊🥂_ **

** _Madame Mayor. 8:26pm. 😘_ **

** **

*

_ Ambition does not take breaks, _her mother told her on countless occasions. 

Even now, she can hear a whole litany of criticisms her mother would think to give her if only she turns her ear the right way. 

But her mother is dead.

And ambition is what earned her the right to do whatever she damn well pleases.

*

“Hey, Henry.”

“Mmh?” 

He’s not really listening to her. He’s studying the switches and buttons of the squad car instead, which is probably good. Makes him less likely to notice Emma’s clammy hands opening and closing around the steering wheel, placed at 10 and 2 like they tell you in driving school. 

“Do you think your mom has warmed up to me?”

They pass by the library; Emma sees Ruby pull open the doors.

Henry shrugs, running a finger over the vents, and wrinkling his nose when it comes away a little dusty.

“Sure, I guess.”

They pass by Granny’s diner, the parking lot with two cars in it, the B&B. Something about it catches in Emma’s brain, but the spark fizzles. 

“Yeah?” She asks, sounding nervous, and that’s a mistake, because that rouses Henry’s attention. 

“Why do you wanna know?”

“Just checking. Want some hard candy? They’re in the glove compartment.”

*

By the time Emma drops Henry off at Mifflin Street, it is raining heavily and slowly getting dark, and so she brings him to the door with the old umbrella she finds in the back of the trunk. It probably belongs to David. 

“Shoes on the mat, please!” Regina’s voice comes from inside the house as soon as Henry unlocks the front door. “Emma, are you eating with us?”

How she knows that Emma is even there, no one knows. 

“Not today,” she calls back, and gives Henry a short hug before he scampers off. “But, thanks!”

Regina appears in her line of view. The entryway looks warm and dry from where Emma is standing on the doormat. “Emma Swan turns down free food? Well, that is certainly a new development.”

_ Maybe we’ll talk. After I get back from the Academy. _

Grinning despite the electric hum in her veins, Emma shrugs. “Another time. You guys enjoy your dinner, though.” 

As she’s turning away, something catches her eye— Regina’s Benz, sitting in the driveway, threads of rain hailing down on it. 

_ Granny’s diner, the parking lot with two cars in it, the B&B. _

Emma’s stomach drops, and she turns around.

_ “I have council meetings on Sundays.” _

Regina’s eyebrows pull together, making an upside-down _ V _over her perfect nose. 

_ “Emma, can you take my shift on Sunday? Graham has a meeting with the Mayor, and Mary Margaret wants to take me to Bangor…” _

“Is everything alright?”

Her mouth tastes like an old penny. 

“Who is present at council meetings?”

The frown deepens, and Emma knows she’s right immediately. 

“What?”

“The council,” she hears herself repeat numbly, looking back to where the rain is beating down on the car, “who’s on it?”

Regina sounds confused. “Albert Spencer, Mother Superior, Elias Gold and myself, wh—”

“You're sleeping with Graham.” 

It just comes out. Not even mad, not accusatory. Her tone is quiet, maybe mildly surprised. 

It didn't register when she saw his pick-up next to the Benz this afternoon, but it's abundantly clear now, a thousand little hints standing out in hindsight — the way he never says her name, only calls her _ The Mayor _— Regina looking vibrant and relaxed after a supposed day-long meeting with people like Gold or Spencer — 

When Emma slowly turns her head back towards her, Regina is as still and cold as the rock in the pit of Emma’s stomach. 

“_I beg your pardon.” _

_ No pardon necessary, it’s not like we’re dating, Jeez, _ Emma wants to say. Or maybe _ It’s cool, you can admit it, I only found out because I’m an amazing cop _. Or literally anything that would make her sound unfazed, her voice even and clear, anything other than the scratchy, choked mess it is when she says: “Well, whatever floats your boat— I have to go now— sorry, it’s not even my business—”

She’s fleeing down the steps as she’s saying it, away from that warm entryway, away from Regina in her white, white blouse, away from how much of a fool she’s made of herself. 

Through the swooshing in her ears, it’s difficult to be sure, but she thinks she hears Regina say something behind her; sharp and lethal, it misses her like a bullet. 

There is the box tree hedge, there is her squad car. 

_ Welcome to Storybrooke. _

*

She says goodbye to Henry during recess. 

“You can call me anytime, you hear me?” Emma tells him, both hands holding onto his face. “If I don’t pick up, I’ll call back as soon as I can.”

“Got it.” He smiles up at her. “And when you’re back, you’ll be a full-on police officer, right?”

_ When you’re back, _it echoes in her hungover head, jarring. 

“Yeah,” she says, forcing a smile. “Be good until then, alright?”

“_You _ be good until then. _ I’m _always good.”

“Oh, really?” 

He grins and nods.

“What about that time you ran away to Boston? You did that _ twice_, actually.”

Henry shrugs. 

“Dire times call for dire measures.” 

*

_ Dire times call for dire measures_, Emma thinks, with her car idling patiently underneath her. 

It’s left to the Academy. Straight ahead for Boston. 

_ Dire times. _

She reaches for the turn signal.


	3. regina

**regina**

In a different story, there is no Savior. None of Regina’s plans are foiled that easily, and no one is responsible for the happiness of others. 

Maybe the subtle waves that Emma’s arrival in Storybrooke made push at the fabric of what things have always been like. Or maybe change happens all on its own. 

While Emma tapes a picture of herself and her son to the wall above her bed in Vassalboro, Ruby Lucas washes lipstick off a mug with a yearning in her heart, and Henry gets a phone call from a friend. (A real one. One his own age. One who spins stories with him; stories about secret missions and surviving in the woods, stories about friendship and families.)

In a different story, there are no prophecies, and yet, on the first Sunday without Emma, Regina Mills finds herself baking and plotting her demise.

_ How dare you_, she thinks, again and again. _ How dare you. _

There is no council meeting that day. 

*

The second Sunday without Emma brings a late, harsh drop in temperature and the first rays of crisp, cold spring sunshine.

Henry jumps on every frozen puddle, delighting in the way the ice splinters and cracks, and Regina feels the ground below her must melt with the hellfire contained in her chest. 

There is no council meeting that day. 

*

“Ms. Mills,” her legal assistant says, surprised, when she sees her at the office on the third Sunday without Emma. “What are you doing here on the weekend?”

Through her open office door, Regina looks up from her budgeting plans. Kathryn Abigail is unobtrusive and hardworking, albeit with a suburban house wife’s sense of perfectionism about her. When she and her husband separated, her work never suffered, and Regina appreciates dedication. “I might ask you the same. You’re aware that your contract does not cover extra pay for Sundays?”

Smiling, Miss Abigail pulls up her shoulders. “Just thought of a loophole in the bylaws of the Midas situation, and wanted to take care of it before I lose the idea.”

“I see.”

“Well,” Miss Abigail looks at her watch and over her shoulder. “I better go; I haven’t had lunch yet. Have a good day, Ms. Mills.”

Regina is not one to follow her impulses, usually, and she isn’t sure what drives her to make an exception now. 

“Ms. Abigail,” she calls after her, and watches her stop and turn back. “I haven’t eaten yet, either. Would you like to grab lunch together?”

There is no council meeting that day.

*

On the fourth Sunday without Emma, Regina meets Graham at her office. 

“I have good news for you,” she says, her wide, uncluttered desk between them. “I have been informed that a position for Captain has opened up at the Bangor Police Department. I have taken the liberty of recommending you for the position.”

He takes it with dignity, Regina must give him that. She can barely detect any kind of reaction at all before his face smoothes over and Graham replies: “How generous. I wasn’t aware I was looking for new employment.”

“The demotion in title should hardly stop you. This would be most advantageous for your career.”

Graham nods slowly. “And to what do I owe this great honor?”

When she looks at him closely, Regina really isn’t sure what she ever saw in him. His purposefully disheveled hair looks childish to her now, his obviously hurt feelings make her feel dirty. 

But, no. He is not a boy, he is an adult, and so is she. She will not be judged for making adult decisions. 

Especially not by someone whose _ own _adult decisions got her pregnant and in jail. Not by someone who lacks the good manners to—

“You do good work, Graham, and you must no doubt have aspirations of your own. This is a good opportunity, and I urge you to take it.”

He huffs, looking away for a moment. When he turns back, he’s looking at her with open confusion.

“What is this, Regina? And don’t give me that crap about advancing my goddamn career. I know when I’m being dismissed. Can you at least tell me what I’ve done wrong?”

Regina lets her eyes trail over the leather jacket that she knows hides well-muscled shoulders that she is intimately familiar with, his beard that used to chafe her just right, and his large hands splayed on the table before her. Deep within, she tries to find regret, or affection, or any emotional response to the smolder Graham has now resorted to. 

To no avail.

She sighs. “There is no need to be dramatic. Yes, our arrangement has come to an end, the reasons for which have nothing to do with you, and are therefore, frankly, none of your business. If you had come to see this for more than it was, all the more reason to end it now.”

He stares at her. 

“You’re a lunatic, you know that?”

That makes her raise her eyebrows. So much for his dignity.

“Careful, Chief Humbert. I advise you not to insult me again.”

“Oh yeah?” He’s getting up now, towering over her in his anger. “What are you gonna do, call the police?”

Regina resists the urge to roll her eyes, as Henry might have done. (As Emma might have done.)

“Do you really need a demonstration of my institutional power? Pull yourself together. I have given you an opportunity; what you do with it is, ultimately, your decision.”

“You’re crazy,” Graham says, and sounds almost impressed now. “You can’t just distract me with a shiny new position and hope I won’t ask any questions, like you do with your son. And I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s going on here.” 

Carefully crossing her legs, Regina leans back in her office chair. 

“That’s interesting,” she tells him, her voice cold and flat. “And here I thought you’d know when you’re being dismissed.”

*

She finds Henry out on the swing that he and Emma hung from Regina’s apple tree in the fall. Regina was upset about it _ pro forma_, but she didn’t make them take it down. 

“Would you like to come inside and have a hot chocolate with me?” she asks him.

It takes a while until he looks up from his boots. 

“Can we put cinnamon on top, like Emma always does?” he asks back. 

Inside Regina’s chest, a whole wide ocean of jealousy and resentment opens up. Her son — _ her _son, who she raised and parented and loved for ten whole years by herself before Emma Swan showed up — is no longer just hers. 

She could have Emma fired, or promoted away, or fight her on her right to see Henry, if she wanted, but it is too late. Her son already loves her, and there is nothing she can do to take that away. The fact towers before her like her own anger, insurmountable. 

For too long, she says nothing, and Henry lands on his feet on the last swing. 

“Are you mad at Emma or something?” he wants to know.

Beside her anger and her helplessness, panic rises. 

“Whatever would I be mad at her for,” she responds, clipped. 

Her insides burn. The fresh spring wind makes her eyes water. 

Henry’s hand, still warm from where he pulls it from his coat pocket, suddenly squeezes her own cool fingers. 

“She’ll be back soon,” he says, like that is supposed to make her feel better. 

And the worst part is that somewhere deep, deep beneath that sour ocean, it does.

*

The new Chief of Police is appointed on the seventh Sunday without Emma.

She is very young to take up this position, but Regina can’t help but be impressed at the single-minded focus and devotion to hard work she must have shown in her career so far, because Mulan Hua meets every last one of the steep requirements Regina wrote down. 

Regina introduces her to David, who welcomes her to Storybrooke warmly, and mentions that another officer is currently in the academy, but doesn’t say anything else. 

When she pours herself a cider in the evening, the memory of Emma fleeing her house comes unbidden. 

_ Sorry, it’s not even my business— _

It occurs to Regina that perhaps those aren’t the words of someone who’s judging.

*

Emma sets her milkshake down with a huff. 

“I can’t believe it. I go out of town for three months, and you go and fall in love with one of the most unattainable women in Storybrooke.” 

“Well,” Ruby says, a little irritated, “at least I’m in good company.”

Emma’s hands still immediately. 

“What do you mean?” She is an excellent actress, when she wants to be. She sounds perfectly unbothered.

But Ruby just shoots her a look. “Oh, don’t give me that. You can’t fool me, I know you want a piece of the mayor.” 

Appalled, Emma makes a face at her. 

“Never say that again.”

“Oh, we’re gonna keep playing it like you’re not into her?” Ruby rolls her eyes. “Fine, then. Have it your way.” 

“Back to you,” Emma hurries to say, and stabs her fork into her order of fries. “What is the plan on the Belle situation? Are we getting wasted? Watching a romcom so you can cry into my shoulder in the dark? Find you some hot piece at the club? Tell me what you need.”

Ruby lets her head fall back while her hands begin to rip her bagel into small pieces. 

“Don’t make me talk to people.”

“Don’t underestimate the power of rebound mode...”

With a sharp look, Ruby turns back to her. “Is that what _ you’re _doing?”

Emma takes a breath. “Cinema it is.”

*

In a different story, Regina makes no effort to bring Emma back to Storybrooke, and Henry does not force her to. 

Emma returns to Storybrooke all on her own after fourteen weeks; not that Regina is counting or in any way interested in her whereabouts. 

The only reason she knows is because her son spends ten days reminding her of it. 

“Now, she’ll only be here for the weekend, so I think we should invite her over for brunch on Sunday. I can show her the bird house I made in Ms. Blanchard’s class, and we could all go for our walk together—”

“Henry,” she interrupts him gently, “please keep in mind that she might have other plans. You need to ask her first.”

Secure in the knowledge that Emma wouldn’t dare to say yes. At least that much common sense she should have. 

In the end, she’s right, of course, and Henry goes to see Emma on Saturday instead. But he’s quiet on their walk, and when she sees the yellow splash of color down on Hunter’s Grove, she finds that she is, too.

The ocean in her chest has dried up and left her with an arid pit of sand and salt in the hollow of her stomach. It makes her thirst for something she can’t name. 

*

_ Hey, _Emma types. 

She erases it.

_ Is there any particular reason why you’re not spe _

She erases it. 

_ I know I probably overstepped, and I’m _

She erases it.

_ We have to talk to each other somehow, for Henr _

She erases it. 

_ Can we still go to Six F _

She erases it.

_ Look, I don’t know what *your* problem is, but *i* went ahead and made a whole fool of myself by falling for you, but thats not exactly my fault so I don’t know why you’re not talking to me anymore. I hate this and I don’t know what the fuck I’m supposed to do, but I miss you and it would be great if you could just pretend like our last conversation never happened and we just go back to being friends or co-parents or whatever it is that we were. _

She erases it. 

A hundred miles away, Regina Mills watches the three dots on her display dance and disappear and dance again, until they finally vanish and don’t return.

“Coward,” she says to her empty study, and finishes her wine.

*

The squad car slows beside her, and Ruby hears the electric hum of a window rolling down. 

“Evening, Miss,” that new Chief of Police says. “It’s late; can I offer you a ride?”

Ruby stops walking. 

It’s cold, and Mary Margaret abandoned her at the club to sneak off with David Nolan again.

“You know what,” she sighs, “that would be lovely.”

*

“Emma!”

“Hey, kiddo. Just got home and saw you called, is everything okay at home?”

“Yeah, everything is fine. Guess what I got today!”

“Uh… a hamster.”

Henry laughs a wave of static noise into Emma’s ear. “Guess again.”

Emma can’t help but grin. “A Wii.”

That makes him huff a little. “I _ wish_. Guess again.”

“Okay, last guess. You got… a new haircut.” 

Cradling her phone between her ear and her shoulder, Emma begins to take off her shoes.

Henry makes a harsh buzzer sound. “Wrong again! I got walkie-talkies. When you get back, I’ll give you one, and then we can talk to each other all the time, even when we’re both at home.”

“That’s awesome! Dare I point out that we’re talking to each other right now, too?” 

“Nope, you dare not. It’s much cooler with walkie-talkies.”

“I’ll give you that. Where did you get them?”

“The new Chief of Police, Chief Hua, gave them to me! She said she was cleaning out Chief Humbert’s locker and found them.”

The phone slips, and Emma has to scramble to catch it. She feels hot and cold all over, all of a sudden.

“The— the— I’m sorry, excuse me, what did you say?”

Maybe there’s a chance that Henry won’t hear how hysterical she sounds. 

“I said the new Chief of Police—”

“What do you mean: the new Chief of Police? What happened to Graham?”

“I dunno,” Henry responds with all the care an almost-eleven-year-old can muster for matters of job positions and hierarchies. “He got a new job somewhere else, I guess. Anyway…”

As her son continues to describe his newest acquisition in great detail, Emma’s heart beats slowly, slowly. 

_ But what does it mean, _ she thinks, her mind aflutter. _ What in the name of fuck does it mean. _

*

“I’m going out for lunch; can I bring anything back for you?”

“If you wait just a minute, I’ll join you. Would you mind?”  
  
“Not at all. I’ll be glad for the company, Ms. Mills.”

“Please, call me Regina.”

*

** _Emma. 2:43pm. _ ** _ Okay fine. You were right _

** _Rubyrubes. 2:44pm. _ ** _ ? _

** _Rubyrubes. 2:44pm. _ ** _ i usually am, but waht is it this time? _

** _Rubyrubes. 2:44pm. _ ** _ *what _

** _Emma. 2:54pm. _ ** _ I do like regina. _

** _Rubyrubes. 2:56pm. _ ** _ …...no way. this is brand new information. i am so surprised. _

** _Emma. 2:57pm. _ ** _ You are the worst _

** _Rubyrubes. 2:59pm. _ ** _ sorry, em. it’s just that this has been literally glaringly obvious to me since the day you first had coffee together at the diner. _

** _Emma. 3:01pm. _ ** _ ? I don’t remember that _

** _Rubyrubes. 3:01pm. _ ** _ yea it was a while back. i only remember because she laughed at something you said (??? mayor mills?? laughing?? in my diner?? its more likely than you think) _

** _Emma. 3:02pm. _ ** _ oh, nvmd, i do remember _

** _Rubyrubes. 3:02pm. _ ** _ and when i looked over you were staring at her like she hung the moon _

** _Rubyrubes. 3:02pm. _ ** _ oh wow. you got it bad, girl _

** _Emma. 3:04pm. _ ** _ i don’t think i liked her then. not like this _

** _Rubyrubes. 3:04pm. _ ** _ you sure about that? _

*

“Mom?”

“Yes, Henry.”

“Are you busy?”

Regina closes her book with her finger between the pages, and looks at her son. He seems nervous; almost sheepish. 

“Not too busy for you, dear. What is it?”

“I was wondering…” He trails off, staring at a spot somewhere behind her. 

“Yes?”

Taking a deep breath, Henry glances back at Regina. 

“I was wondering if you’d play Mario Kart with me?”

The word _ no _ is already in Regina’s mouth, but it must get jumbled up, because what comes out is, “Why not?”

Maybe it’s Henry’s careful way of asking that added a few extra letters, or maybe it’s that her book was boring her, anyway. 

Or maybe a small part comes from the brief moment in her imagination, in which Regina might, some day, one-up Emma at her own game. 

*

The last two weeks of Emma’s time at the academy draw to a close, and the thought of returning to Storybrooke makes her feel like having too much coffee with too little breakfast. 

_ Rebound mode, _she thinks when Killian Jones, a fellow cadet, asks her out. 

In a different story, she might appreciate the easiness with which he bears the nickname _ Guyliner _and the way he doesn’t seem to mind the hazing of the other men one bit; she might even find him attractive. But his shabby, long overcoat makes her involuntarily flash back on the unreasonably large fashion collection of expensive, immaculate blazers and coats that must be hidden somewhere inside Mills Manor, and she can’t. 

She thinks about Henry’s school lunches and the crystalline carafe with hard cider, about paperwork and text messages and everything else that Regina treats with such precise consideration and care. 

She thinks of her rich, warm laugh, and feels like her soul might crack. 

*

_ WELCOME BACK, EMMA_, the banner reads, in Henry’s bold, even letters. 

Summer has long since come to Storybrooke, but tonight, the wind blowing in from the sea is too strong to have any kind of gathering outside, and so Emma’s surprise party is held inside Granny’s Diner.

Half the town has come. At Henry’s behest, Regina has contributed her signature lasagna. And as she lets Sydney Glass drone on about investigative journalism for half an hour, she really wishes she could be anywhere but here.

The sound of someone shushing loudly cuts through the chatter, and before Regina has time to really prepare for it, there it is: the sharp ringing of the bell above the door, and the moment that Emma is back in Storybrooke for good. Henry is grinning from ear to ear, leading her in, and Miss Blanchard has her hands over Emma’s eyes.

As soon as she takes them away, everyone else cheers. 

Regina can see Emma’s eyes search the small crowd, and she hastily takes a step behind David Nolan’s large form.

She’s not ready for Emma to look at her. 

(Like her heart is in Regina’s hands. Or like it isn’t.)

From across the room, she watches Emma be introduced to Chief Hua, lets her joke around with Miss Lucas, and looks on as Henry hands over one of his walkie-talkies. 

In a different story, Henry gifts his love indiscriminately, without a second thought.

“Did you know that Emma was a foster child?” Henry asked her as he wrapped his present in the middle of the living room. 

Regina told him that yes, she had known that. 

“She said she was given up by her parents, too, and she never had a real mom,” he told her, and the words _ real mom _had cut through Regina like glass, so harshly that she almost missed the rest of his sentence, “not like me. They always gave her away again. So I thought I’d give her a gift so she knows we really want her around this time. She already knows what it is, but I like unwrapping presents...”

He had told her all of this so easily, his thoughts just pouring out while she listened, not knowing what it meant. But Regina knew, then. 

He’d always be hers. 

*

In a different story, it’s Emma who leaves first, and Regina who goes after her.

For the whole evening, Regina’s presence hovers at the edge of Emma’s consciousness like the sun: exciting, warming, too glaring to look at directly. 

_ I’ll talk to her later, _she thinks when she sees Regina talking to Granny. 

_ Not now, _she decides when Henry runs off to go ask permission for another piece of cake. 

_ Maybe it would be best if we talked privately first, _she tells herself when she can’t make herself step away from David and Mary Margaret. 

But she can tell herself whatever she likes; the truth is that she is terrified, that her heart is in her throat whenever she catches the faint note of Regina’s perfume in the air, that she doesn’t know how to fix whatever needs fixing between them.

Emma knows how to make herself invisible.

Moving the door slowly and carefully so as not to set off the bell, she sneaks out.

Greeted by the fresh, salty night air, she takes a deep breath. It’s strange how much she’s come to think of Storybrooke as home, especially considering how much time she spent living in Boston without ever feeling this way. The town lies still and quiet, and Emma makes herself relax, fraction by fraction.

Until the bell dings behind her; the door opens and snaps shut.

Regina says: "Emma."

The air that felt so refreshing just a moment ago is suddenly heavy and thick in her lungs. 

Regina says: "You could have called, you know."

The front yard of the diner is lit up by strings of lightbulbs, and if it was anyone else coming down the three or four steps behind her, she doesn’t think she could make herself turn around. 

But it’s not anyone else. And there Regina stands, in her red satin blouse and matching lipstick, looking more put-together than Emma remembers ever having felt in her life.

“Why me? _ You _could have called, too,” she shoots back. 

For a split-second, Regina looks stricken, and then her expression changes. Emma closes her eyes. 

“No, wait; I’m sorry. Regina, I’m… sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” Regina’s hair has grown, she notices when she opens her eyes again. Quietly, she adds: “I didn’t think you would want me to. Was I wrong?”

It takes what feels like an eternity, but the hard look on Regina’s face slowly melts away again. 

“Maybe. I don’t know,” she admits. 

Emma pulls up her shoulders, unsure of what to say. 

“I like the new Chief.”

That earns her a raised eyebrow. “I’m glad you approve, Officer Swan.”

Is it a jab? Is it a joke? The ground beneath Emma’s feet doesn’t feel level, and she wonders if talking to Regina will ever be as easy as a glass of cider and socks on warm hardwood floors again. 

She sighs, and is silent.

“I missed you, you know.” 

Her voice is so deep and smooth, like expensive dark chocolate, like petting a black cat. Or maybe just like coming home. Emma winces.

“I’m sorry for messing everything up. We had a good thing going, and I hope we can get back to that.”

For a very long time, they’re both quiet. Someone shrieks and laughs in the diner behind them, and further away, an engine is revved. Emma looks at everything: the chipped paint on the white window frames, the neon sign that says _ SANDWICHES, _the one broken bulb in the string of lights.

“Emma...” Regina breathes her name like she knows. 

She tells her: “We can.”

And then, when Emma finally looks at her: “We will.”

*

_ We had a good thing going_, it echoes in the back of Regina’s head while she helps a half-asleep Henry dress for bed, when she brushes her teeth, and when she checks her e-mails one last time for the day.

It’s true.

Of all the possible ways that Emma entering their lives could have gone—

—in this story, it went well.

Regina is loathe to admit it, but Henry’s temper did even out little by little with every passing Sunday he spent with her.

A million times Regina asked herself this: how is it possible? How could someone who clashed so hard with everything that Regina had built fit herself so neatly into their lives?

All the niches Regina did not have enough strength to shine light into on her own, between motherhood and mayoralty, all the ways in which her carefully crafted world had failed to be flawless, and Emma came and filled them, warmed up every corner and picked up where Regina had left off.

Persistent, Regina called her at first, in her more generous thoughts. At the time, she didn’t realize that it was just another word for _ steady_, for _ reliable_, for _ constant_.

(She came back, after all. Whatever she might have felt and thought when she’d left, she came back.)

_ I’m sorry for messing everything up, _Emma said, and the question of what it had been that upset her so much that night had been on Regina’s tongue, uncomfortable and squirming against the roof of her mouth like a living thing.

But they had a good thing going, and can again. It would be irresponsible to ruin it, for Henry’s sake. For all of their sakes.

It takes three weeks until Regina invites Emma to stay for a drink after dinner again. 

*

(And yet, sometimes—

“Henry, go wash your hands, please.”

“Already have.”

“Hey, look me in the face real quick and say that again?”

“Em-_ma…. _”

“You better not let me catch you lying to your mother again, kiddo. Go wash up.”

—sometimes it’s so easy, stepping through a veil into an alternate reality where she can run a hand along the small of Emma’s back in passing, just a small gesture to say _ thanks for saving me that discussion_.

But she stays where she is.)

*

Fall slowly returns to Storybrooke once again, and because Regina is a woman of her word, she lets Emma lay out her plan for a trip to Springfield, Maine one evening. 

After all, Emma points out, it would be wise to go before it gets too cold.

Nothing about her appearance fits in with the dark wooden wall panelling, or the heavy curtains, or the expensive rug: Her long hair, pulled over one shoulder, is still wet from the shower; Emma and Henry spent the whole day defoliating and mowing the lawn out front and the garden behind the house. She changed into yoga pants and an oversized sweatshirt (_Police Academy Vassalboro Class of 2012, _it says), looking comfortable and sportive. 

Here she is now, sitting on the green upholstering of Regina’s antique sofa with one foot tucked under her and the other knee drawn up to her chest. 

Oblivious to how strange it all is, like it’s natural. 

(Against all odds, it is.)

"Alright,” she says, tapping the tablet in her hands a few times before handing it over. 

Regina, quick to recover and pretend like she did not just spend a full minute just regarding Emma, takes it. 

As much as she’s making it sound like all of this has been an hour of Googling for her, Regina can tell that she’s spent a lot of thought on it. As Emma goes on to explain, her low, clear voice hovering over the steady hum of the air conditioning, the cogwheels in Regina’s head turn swiftly. She leafs through pictures of hotel suites and city maps, water park attractions and white people laughing on roller coasters. Seawater spas, bath houses, saunas.

Finally, she hands the tablet back.

“Give me a few days to think about it,” she tells her.

*

Henry, Regina notes, does not mention the possibility of a trip even once.

*

** _Emma. 4:44pm._ ** _ OMG _

** _Emma. 4:44pm. _ ** _ Ruby was just here. to bring lunch to the Chief _

** _Emma. 4:44pm. _ ** _ that’s like the fourth time this week. they are definitely hitting it off _

** _Emma. 4:45pm. _ ** _ this was the best hiring decision you ever made _

** _Madame Mayor. 4:47pm. _ ** _ Really? The best one? _

** _Emma. 4:50pm. _ ** _ … _

** _Emma. 4:40pm. _ ** _ do you disagree? _

** _Madame Mayor. 4:52pm. _ ** _ I was just checking. _

*

She vows to keep her heart to herself, but there is a moment, for Emma. 

They’ve taken Henry and Ava to a beach a couple of miles away, where the two of them can explore the remnants of the “Jolly Roger,” a shipwreck Emma is fairly certain was placed there for the benefit of tourists. As the kids run ahead to poke around in the eroded dark wood, Regina and Emma trail behind.

“So tell me,” Regina begins, brushing a strand of hair out of her face; the wind picks it up and blows it right back again. “What’s it like to live in a big city like Boston?”

Emma snorts. “Loud.” 

She thinks back to her apartment; to Boston Public Garden, to night walks along the pier. 

“I miss some of it,” she admits. Squinting a little against the glare of the September sun reflecting on the ocean, she adds: “But Storybrooke is alright, and having a stable job is nice. The pay could be better, though.” 

Regina laughs at that. 

For a few moments, all they hear is the waves crashing, and the crunch of the sand beneath their heels. 

“Well, for what it’s worth, I’m glad you decided to move here.”

Everything in Emma stills, and all she wants is to pull Regina in and hug her, warm and solid against the wind. Or maybe just take her hand. Linking their arms could be a start.

There are a number of questions chasing each other in her head.

She once gave a guy a hand-job in a public toilet stall within five hours of meeting him; how can this, the smallest of touches, take more effort than Emma can bear? Given that Regina's idea of starting a friendship was to employ her, how is _ she _ the one saying things like _ I missed you _ and _ I’m glad you decided to move here_? And how in the world can Emma possibly pave a way from her heart, expanding and contracting with a myriad of colorful sounds, to Regina's brain, preferably with words?

(“I love her,” she has told herself in the mirror. She’s told the inside of her car, she has even told it to the trees in the forest, quiet and looming. “So there,” she added, her hands on her hips, and gotten no response.)

In the end, all Emma allows herself to do is sway the smallest bit, until their shoulders bump gently together. Through the denim of her jacket, she can feel the stiff fabric of Regina's trench coat give.

The look Regina gives her is unreadable.

*

Sunday council meetings have been replaced by afternoon coffee with Kathryn Abigail.

Not every Sunday, of course, and Regina certainly didn’t plan for it to become a regular occurrence at all, but it’s nice, having a friend. 

“Alright then,” Kathryn says, setting down her spoon on the saucer of her espresso cup. “I can tell that something’s on your mind. Care to share with the class?”

Regina wonders, sometimes, if she was this forward before her marriage fell apart, or if she’s grown to be so confident since.

She takes the time to take a sip. 

“Emma wants to take Henry on a trip to an amusement park.”

Kathryn wrinkles her nose. “You mean: children’s disease for takeaway? My sister took her kids to Disneyland and they all caught the flu there.”

“She mentioned that risk.” A small wave of appreciation surges up. “Her plan included a lot of disinfectant and the address of the nearest emergency room being saved in her phone.”

“I see. And how do we feel about that?”

They’re seated near the window of the small café, and Regina lets her gaze wander outside. A few teenagers are skating in the parking lot. 

She sighs. “I certainly wouldn’t mind a vacation.”

“She wants you to come with them?” The tone of surprise in Kathryn’s voice lets Regina turn back to her. 

“Yes, of course. He’s my son. Emma knows I wouldn’t approve if she took him out of town without me.” 

“You wouldn’t?” Kathryn shrugs. “I mean, it’s not like I know what I’m talking about. David and I never had kids. But my sister’s ex-husband would _ never _take her along on a trip like this, even if she could afford it. She’s lucky if he takes the kids off her hands for a few days so she can catch her breath.” 

“He sounds like a charmer,” Regina says, automatic, swallowing her disapproval. _ Lucky if he takes the kids off her hands for a few days_. “Anyway. As the one who signs her paychecks, I am acutely aware of how expensive this trip is. Particularly…” She adjusts her cup on its saucer, straightens the spoon and the sugar bowl. “Particularly the spa offers she insisted on including for me.” 

For a few moments, Kathryn doesn’t say anything, then she takes up her espresso again, eyes squinting against the steam. 

“So what you’re telling me,” she finally says, “is that she is not only inviting you to come along, but she’s offering to treat you to a spa weekend?”

Regina doesn’t know why, but to her horror, she blushes. 

“I could join them in the amusement park, of course,” she says quickly, “but my point is that this will definitely put a strain on her financially, and I’m wondering if it would be rude to suggest that we split the costs.”

Kathryn shakes her head. “I’m not sure that’s wise, Regina. Have you… well, I don’t mean to intrude, but has she ever given you the idea that she might like you? As more than a friend?”

Instantly, Regina flashes back to the way Emma’s eyes crinkle when she smiles — really smiles, not grins or smirks, just smiles — to the way she closes the cutlery drawer with her hip, to the look on her face when she figured out that Regina was having an affair. 

She says nothing. 

“Do you have any idea,” Kathryn asks, very, very gently, “that you might like her?”

“Really, Kathryn,” Regina responds dryly, with the words catching a little in her throat. “We’re not teenagers anymore, you know.”

But the silent vastness of the dry ocean in her chest remains.

*

_ Not before the trip_, Regina decides. Maybe afterwards, they can talk. _ Maybe. _

_ Maybe _ flutters in her throat like a small bird, _ maybe _tingles and sizzles in the back of her mind when she tries to sleep. 

_ (Maybe _ feels strictly impossible whenever Emma is near. _ Maybe not, _then.)

*

Henry is on his feet immediately.

“Are you for real?” 

Regina raises an eyebrow. “Are we what, please?”

“I mean— are you serious? We’re going to Six Flags?!” he asks, and his voice is breaking so hard that Regina winces with the sudden realization that someday soon, his voice will change altogether. 

Beside her, Emma laughs, rough and short. “We are. Unless you don’t want t—”

In a move so dramatic that it makes Regina see Emma in him clear as day, Henry throws his head back and lets out a howl of joy, making both of his mothers jump a little. 

Their eyes meet over the dinner table. Regina’s heart slows. 

Then Henry says: “When are we going? Oh, can I please go and tell Ava about it?”

“You can call her later,” Regina says, “but first, sit down and finish your dinner.”

*

** _Madame Mayor. 3:20pm. _ ** _ If I murdered Spencer in broad daylight, do you think my connections to the local police would keep me out of jail? _

** _Emma. 3:21pm. _ ** _ depends. Why are you murdering him? _

** _Madame Mayor. 3:21pm. _ ** _ Because he’s a controlling, condescending, good for nothing idiot who feels the need to explain my job to me any chance he gets _

** _Madame Mayor. 3:27pm. _ ** _ Sorry, I’m under-caffeinated. How are you two? _

** _Emma. 3:30pm. _ ** _ i’d say that warrants a murder but alas, i am only a lowly officer and my opinion won’t do you much good _

** _Emma. 3:31pm. IMG_1924 sent. _ ** _ but this might _

_ [Image Description: Henry and Emma grinning into the camera from a high angle; Henry is holding a styrofoam cup from _ Granny’s Diner _ and Emma’s face is only partially visible] _

*

Miss Blanchard’s Jeep Grand Wagoneer comes to a halt in front of the house at eight o’clock sharp on a Saturday. 

Regina can’t say that she’s particularly trusting of a car built in 1991, but it is true that neither the Bug nor the Benz have the room to transport all three of them _ and _their luggage.

“_Mom! _ ” Henry hollers from upstairs. “_I can see her; she’s here! _We’re going to Six Flags!”

Regina can see her, too, pulling her leather jacket over her black, long-sleeved shirt. As she approaches the house, Regina watches her tug her wavy mass of hair out from under her collar, like she’s seen her do so many times before.

Henry is rumbling down the stairs. 

“No running!” Regina calls, moving back towards the kitchen to finish packing their snacks. “If you fall and break your arm, we’re not going anywhere but the hospital.”

That seems to slow him down at least, but the next thing Regina hears is the sound of the door opening. 

“Morning, kiddo,” Emma’s voice echoes in the foyer. “Ready to go on an adventure?”

In an abstract corner of her mind, Regina thinks that she sounds like dawn breaking, fresh and bright, over a world still asleep.

“I’ll go get my things!” 

Henry’s feet rumble up the stairs again, and Emma yells after him: “Take it easy! Today is a bad day to break something!”

With deliberate diligence, Regina stacks the lunch boxes in her basket as Emma appears in the doorway of her kitchen.

“Hey,” she says. The leather of her jacket squeaks faintly when she leans against the frame.

The thermos bottle with hot coffee goes into the shopping crate. The jar with homemade cookies.

“Are you ready?”

Finally, Regina closes the lid on the basket and looks up, taking a moment to let it all sink in: the way Emma’s fingers are clasped around the car keys. Her hair tucked behind one ear. Her eyes squinting with excitement, the downward slope of her red mouth. How familiar she has become, how precious.

“Yes,” she returns, and knows that it’s true.

Regina could say that she acts on instinct, but that would be untrue. 

When she crosses the room and pulls Emma in by her wrist, it’s because she has decided to, and when she takes Emma’s face in both her hands, it’s because she should have done it much, much sooner.

Emma kisses her like sunshine after rain, like fields growing in time-lapse, like hoping against hope. She spins her, both hands on Regina’s waist, and kisses her back with no hesitation, like she’s been waiting all this time. 

When they hear footsteps on the stairs, they let go. 

_ Okay? _Emma mouths, her cheeks pink. 

The salt pit in Regina’s chest is blooming, wide and colorful. Her hands tingle where she could feel the warmth of Emma’s body through her jacket. 

_ Yes, _ she mouths back. _ Yes, yes, yes. _

With Henry calling for them from the front door, Regina can’t do any more than smile at Emma; but when she smiles back, wide and terrific, her nose crinkling, it’s almost enough for now. 

“Let’s go,” Emma says. 

On their way out, she laces their fingers together, pulling her away to shores unknown.

In a different story, there is no magic.

Or maybe there is.

  



End file.
